It’s a hard thing to do, travel alone. Loneliness can quickly become consuming, all too easily concealing the good times behind a brooding, heavy cloud, one that’s reluctant to break apart. Because on a dark and rainy day, who wants to challenge the storm when you could be huddled indoors, secluded yet sheltered? But often, as soon as the motivation mounts enough to step out the door, you don’t look back. It’s the people that do this for me, who encourage me to take those first few steps. These people I’m speaking of, I might be with them for only a few minutes, few hours, or I might see them every day. I might not know their name or them mine, might not learn where they come from or even exchange any words at all. But it is they who have made my time here so meaningful, and it is they who I would like to thank.

To the Ghanaian man waiting in line behind me at Shoprite, who asked me all about home and amicably shared his own stories of world travel in Japan and Australia. To the group of Dartmouth grad students who I spent three long days of cross-country driving with my first weekend here, whose laughter and camaraderie made me feel less alone. To Linda and Josephine, the two nurses who immediately fastened the Alaska pins I gave them on their matching uniforms and gave me their emails, and who I promised to invite to my college graduation (a promise I fully intend to keep). To the man in the compound who stopped me on my walk home just to chat, who claimed to speak 11 languages but unfortunately not French. To Maike, the woman who laughed at the mango sink faucet with me and who gave me tips on the best beaches to visit in Accra. To the German man at the hostel restaurant, who told me story after story about how he saved the old-growth forest of the Nitinat triangle, his adventures in Vancouver and Victoria, his daughter who is studying art and photography, his hiking of the Pacific Crest trail, and who I wished could meet my dad. To the three journalists I worked with for just a day, whose loud yet lighthearted political banter filled the car ride to Salaga. To Joshua, whose exuberance and endless jokes immediately put me at ease and who introduced me to the vivacity of Ghanaian culture at the Tema festival. To the Dutch woman I met at dinner in Tamale, who was also spending 11 weeks in Ghana alone, and with whom I was delighted to share a mutual wonder at the sights we’ve seen and appreciation for the difficulties of solo travel. To the man who approached me at a work meeting, never having heard my voice or where I was from, and randomly asked me “est-ce vous parlez français?” therefore starting a lovely conversation. To the two separate women who stopped me on my runs just to say hi and make a friend, a gesture I appreciated much more than they knew. To Mike from Kuwani, who asked me all sorts of questions about Kodiak, endearingly explaining he loves having friends, and wants to make as many as he can. To all my coworkers, particularly Anita and Patrick, whose playful bicker shortened our long car rides, and Benedict, who incessantly teased me for how much water I drank and made uneventful days at the office so much more fun. To my hosts Nancy and Siapha and his daughter Mary-Anne, who so generously welcomed me to their home and made my trip here as engaging as possible. To Idrissu and PK, who were always there for a cheery conversation and a knowing grin. To Majeed, who had a gentle easy smile alongside his burning passion for soccer, and with whom I spent many hours having wonderful conversations under mango trees. To the people who appeased the outgoing stranger with the camera, who allowed me to take their beautiful portraits and to always remember the Faces of Ghana. To all the children everywhere, whose endless, unbridled, genuinely pure joy amazed me, and who made my cheeks ache from smiling so hard. And to my Kuwani family, my mamaa, whose love was so strong, and who in just a few days made me feel like I belonged in such a painfully unfamiliar place, who laughed with me, danced with me, hugged me, and gave me beautiful memories and an indescribable feeling I will never ever lose. To all these people and the many more behind the friendly nods and warm greetings, thank you. You have made this trip what it was.

The storm clouds are always there, gloomy and threatening, but only if handed the power can they stop you from getting out and exploring. What a thing it is, to explore freely, uncontrolled and unabashed, to walk down any street you choose and stop to introduce yourself to a stranger or kneel down to greet a shy little girl. To meet people who have no idea who you are and will probably never see you again; to them you’re a fleeting face in another regular day, but to you they’re a smile that encouraged you, a conversation that welcomed you, a feeling of acceptance in a place you felt misunderstood. What a beautiful, wonderful thing.